The Difference of a Small Human
by maalani
Summary: Ishval. Daliha District. 1908. The Flame Alchemist walks through the debris of his own created Hell and makes a decision that will change his life from that day forward. One-shot.


**All characters belong to Hiromu Arakawa as well as parts of the final dialogue.**

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The desert sun beat down on the back of his neck as the dry heat threatened to evaporate any moisture left on his cracked lips. How long had it been since the state alchemists had been deployed? One, maybe two weeks? They had done their job well, and here he was in the Daliha district, the last place to be wiped off of the map by his flames. He had seen the destruction his alchemy had left in its wake, but in the field, he had no time to think of how everything he had dreamt had gone wrong. He had been so naive to think he would only be using flame alchemy to help people. He had been so wrong to think that he could use it to make a difference. No, perhaps he was not as wrong about the latter. He was making a difference but not the one he had sought to make.

He thought back to the young cadet he had seen only earlier as she asked why they were doing this. Why they were using alchemy to kill instead of help people. Her amber eyes, he had never seen them so hollow before, so empty. Deep down, he knew it was because of him. He had spread his ideas out to her and in turn, she had entrusted him with her back. Once he had taken the secrets of flame alchemy and became a state alchemist, he had planned on seeing her again to tell her the things he had accomplished, but it was never to be like this. Her eyes were meant to be soft with pride, not hard and dead. She joined the military academy because of his ideals, because she believed in them and him. This was his fault. He had hurt her. He had shown her one of her greatest fears, flame alchemy being put to use by the wrong hands. Maybe he was not worthy of the great art after all. What a fool.

His eyes closed only for a brief moment as he heard the few men who had joined him on his assignment come up behind him, weapons at the ready in case they were necessary, every single one of them knowing full well the Flame Alchemist would make sure they would not have a chance to use them. He breathed in the stench of the air, even this place, yet untouched by fire had a smell of foul decay which would only turn more acrid the moment he posed to snap. It was the smell of burning human flesh, hair and muscle tissue that would never leave his nostrils for as long as he would live. He was positive of it. It was too distinct, too repugnant to the point he nearly lost his previous meal after the first time. His stomach had long since grown accustomed to swallowing the fumes, and his eyes all too distant when the spark ignited.

"Major Mustang!"

He turned his head to see the soldier who had addressed him, and with a curt nod in his direction, faced front once more and took a step into another circle of his own created Hell.

They moved forward slowly yet deliberately, his gloved hands at his sides. Within the hour, the place he stood would be consumed by raging madness and smoke. Their first order of business, however, was to scope out the area to make sure all of their men were cleared from the line of fire. Word had gone out only the day before that the Flame Alchemist would be eradicating this final district and it was time to head back.

"Check the outer buildings," Mustang called to his men. "Keep your eyes open for any insurgents. Sergeant, stay with me."

"Yes, Sir!"

He watched their backs for any sign of movement as they left on his orders, ready to create protection for them if it came to it. The sergeant he had asked to stay behind with him moved forward to stand by his side.

"Do you think there are many left, Major?"

Mustang took another deep breath, fighting back the cough that tingled in his throat. "We can't let our guard down. If any did survive the initial attacks, they probably fled into other districts or the countryside, but that's not to say there won't be those few who continue fighting. Our job is simple. We guarantee there are none left by burning them and this place into the sand."

He followed the men as they made their way between the buildings, watching his surroundings dutifully. When the others returned, sure that all their soldiers had been safely evacuated, he set into motion the final act. Ordering his men to stay back, he snapped, the ignition cloth of his gloves creating a decent spark then using his knowledge to turn it into a giant flame answerable only to him, shooting it forward onto the setting before him. The heat from the attack mixed in with the already severe temperatures and the sinking pit in his stomach had his forehead brimming with sweat.

He stood and watched his work as the buildings collapsed and dark smoke circulated through the air. No one said a word. What could they say? What could he say? These were their orders, his orders. This would effectively end the Ishvalan War of Extermination. His acts today would soon send the tired soldiers home, but he knew their lives would never be the same.

As the flames died down through part on their own and also his help, he stepped into the wasted inferno, confirming the destruction. His men waited behind, most too stunned to move having been their first time to see the Flame Alchemist at work, others sickened by the smell in the air and the tastes in their mouths. He could not blame them. They were not the ones who were around it day in and day out as he was. They did not have the luxury of immunity.

A final building that had yet to completely burn caught his eye, and he walked toward it carefully surveying the damage before a sound drew his attention inside. His heart quickened its pace as he took on a defensive, throwing back the ragged curtain on the door and stepping over the threshold. He saw nothing of significance when he looked around, but there was that sound once more. He followed it into a separate room where he froze to the spot at the sight before him.

Swallowing the bile that rose to the back of his throat, he stared at a small girl who gathered herself tight into a corner, her wide, red eyes watching him intently. He wanted to scream. He had his orders, exterminate the Ishvalan race, none in his path would be allowed to live, so why did fate drop a child right in front of him? How could he take this innocent life? His alchemy left him privileged to the fact that he did not always have the view of his victims' faces, but when he did, they had never been children. They had been grown men, warrior monks who tried to ambush their encampment the week before. There had even been an old friend from the academy a few years prior, although he had not taken the kill for Heathcliff. That had been Hughes.

The room around him now grew silent, as if nothing else existed around him except the girl. Their eyes held each others, her's searching his for answers and his begging hers to forgive him for what he had to do. The time stretched on for what could have been hours, but in reality lasted only less than a minute. His gloves were once more in position, but his fingers refused to move. He shook from adrenaline, frustration, and hatred for what he had become, and he could not do it.

He lowered his hands and trudged ahead until he stood right above her. Kneeling down to her level, he noticed her shrink back, only natural to do such a thing given the circumstances, and sighed. "Are you hurt?"

There was no reply for a moment, but he intended to wait until she finally shook her head. He had no way of telling whether she told him the truth or not, her tanned skin being plastered with dirt and the usual white hair of her race being stained with soot and grime, but he yielded her answer.

"Do you think you can stand?"

He kept his voice soft as he spoke as to not startle her into a panic, and he found himself relieved when she confirmed she could. He watched as she slowly got to her feet, praying that his men indeed stayed behind and had not followed him into the aftermath. How long had he been gone now?

"Good. Now go. Get out of here and run as far to the east as you can. This war will be over very soon. Right now, you'll have a clear path to escape."

The girl narrowed her eyes questioning his motives, wondering if he would indeed kill her either way. She took a small step toward the door before asking, "But why?"

"Because I have the opportunity to make a difference. The death of a child started this war and the life of a child will end it. Now go. Don't stop running until you no longer smell or see the smoke."

Before either of them said another word, she was gone from his sights, and he contemplated exactly what had just occurred. He had protected the lives of other soldiers throughout his time in the field, but today he protected the life of an Ishvalan child, one who was helpless without the choice he made. He left the building and set fire to the remains.

Two days had passed since he had been sent to the Daliha district, and as predicted, everything was coming to a close. An Ishvalan elder had been found in the last area of Daliha, and Mustang dutifully finished him off. Seven years of war had ended in the worst way imaginable, the near complete genocide of an entire race.

He stood on the grounds with Maes Hughes, both waiting for their dismissals to go home, watching and listening to soldiers drunk with victory. He thought of the soldiers who had called him a hero for keeping them safe, men on his team whose names he barely remembered, and he thought of the Ishvalan girl whose life he had saved. Finally, it hit him all at once. "With this war, everything I believed was shattered. Even if I said I'd protect this country, in reality it was everything I could do just to protect a mere handful of people. I was able to protect only this many, fool that I am! I'm pissed off at my foolish self!"

Hughes turned to his friend and sighed. "Don't be so worried about it, Roy. The strength of a human is limited."

"Perhaps the power of one man doesn't amount to much, but however little strength I'm capable of, I will do everything humanly possible to protect all I can, and in turn the people below me will protect those below them. For a small human, at least that should be possible."

"What? Geometric progression? That's a child's calculation. An idealistic argument."

"I don't care if I'm called naive. You may call it idealistic or simple, but when that's accomplished, it would become nothing more than something that's possible." Roy looked back at the man standing next to him.

"Your way of thinking has changed," Hughes began and grinned, "but your roots are still green. There's just one thing, if you're going to protect everyone, you'll have to find a way to be at the top of that progression."

Roy gazed up, his eyes strong and determined as they met the man's who had declared war on Ishval, that of Fuhrer King Bradley. "It would certainly feel good up there Hughes, but I can't climb up all the way with only my own power."

"There's no doubt about that. You're not very subtle, you know. You've got my support, but you could've just asked. It ought to be fun to watch though. Maybe your naive idealism might actually do some good."

He took in his friend's words, accepting them wholeheartedly, but his sights were now set beyond that of Bradley. He gave a child her future, and now he would make sure she had one to look forward to because he would make that difference, because he _could_ make that difference. He had that choice.

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 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! Please review!**


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